Tested to Destruction
by Ripper101
Summary: Hathaway/ Lewis slash. Hathaway finally tests the relationship to what he is absolutely sure is beyond the point of destruction. He waits to find out what the consequences will be.


**Disclaimer:** I own no rights to these two characters, or to the fictional universe they hail from. I make no money from posting this and mean no offence by it.

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><p>When they're finally done and Hathaway has scrambled back into his clothes and thrown himself back out into the street, he stands for a minute on the pavement outside and just breathes.<p>

The air is cool here. It's dark. There are no cars on the street, no one walking their dogs, and upstairs he's left his boss naked and very much more sexually satiated than when he arrived.

'_Test it to destruction'_.

Hathaway has a feeling DCS Innocent did not intend him to be quite _this_ destructive.

But he's done it. He's done the one thing that will surely end this... whatever the hell they've got.

He is a lone wolf, he tells himself, he is independent. He thinks for himself, he works for himself; he is beholden to no man. Or woman. He's really not fussed.

More women than men, of course, but in boarding school it was a bit hard to smuggle the girls in without someone hearing you. No bloody point half the time; they were good girls, and James had been staunch. Love first and no sex for the hell of it.

So what he's just done still doesn't make sense.

His phone vibrates in his pocket and almost gives him a heart attack. It's also a little too close to sensitive areas and all in all, he dives for it with a very slight wince. Maybe more pain than pleasure but there's a definite thrill.

Phone sex, he thinks somewhat hysterically, and has the good luck to catch the name on the screen before he answers.

It's Robbie.

He looks up and there's a shape at the window. His bloody contacts are still in so he can see as clearly as anyone can. It's a very familiar shape, moreover, and he's certainly had his fingers digging into the expanse of those shoulders just recently.

He doesn't answer the phone and he takes off at a brisk pace, eyes straight ahead. The phone rings twice more so he can't put it back in his pocket. Or won't. A bit too near the knuckle for that. The thought makes him feel a bit cheap. Getting his kicks from a vibrating phone is bad enough but to use Robbie's attempts to call him to do it is a little too far into the territory of creepy.

Anyway, he's going to have to confront Lewis in the morning.

Hathaway is well on his way through the formulation of a crisp, concise apology when he gets to his car. By the time he's home he's mentally drafted his resignation letter. For the second time. No, the third time. The first time was after Will. The second time was after Scarlet.

Hathaway clenches his fingers around the steering wheel and then almost has an accident because he was doing that to a set of shoulders only twenty minutes ago.

Twenty minutes. Normally he'd be out like a light by now. Preferably warm and wrapped around another living, breathing human being, but it's a bit terrifying to put Robbie Lewis into the role of secret lover.

Hathaway manages to make it through his front door relatively unscathed before he realises that he's left his phone in his car.

It's self-defence, he decides. He also decides he needs a shower. His pants are sticking to him and there is a streak of dried semen on his abdomen that he really is not going to think about because he's not completely sure that it's his.

The shower is long and hot and by the time Hathaway gets out it's past midnight. He has work in the morning. At work he will have to confront the consequences of his actions. He's facing allegations of sexual harassment and the revulsion of all his fellow officers. If everything goes well, he will only be reassigned to another Inspector.

At this point, Hathaway will take it.

There are other good Inspectors in the Oxfordshire Police. Or elsewhere, really; he's happy to travel. And maybe he'll be luckier away from Oxford. Maybe his past won't come creeping up on him in new and unpleasant ways. It would be a bit hard to- Will is dead, Will's transgendered lover is dead, Scarlet is on a suspended sentence and living in Paris, and his parents don't really keep in touch. If he's only slightly unlucky, he'll end up in the same office as Fiona.

In light of his current situation with his very male, very superior, very damaged boss, he'll take Fiona in a heartbeat. It was a lot more straightforward with her.

He wonders if Lewis will want to pretend that nothing happened.

Hathaway can do that. Hathaway can pretend nothing happened like nobody's business.

And if they stayed away from each other it would probably be helpful. He could stop making those camp remarks. They could stop going out for drinks together. He could also stop turning up at Lewis's place with wine and take-out. It's a foregone conclusion that he won't be welcome any more.

He waits in the shade of the station building for a good four minutes while he smokes one last cigarette to calm his nerves, hiding at the back until he has no choice but to go in because passing uniforms are giving him curious looks.

He's used to curious looks. Even Lewis gives him curious looks.

Well, now Lewis knows firsthand. There was Scarlet, Fiona, four other women who shall remain nameless, a passing attraction to Dr. Hobson, and now Lewis.

Speaking of Dr. Hobson.

Hathaway almost ducks back around the corner when he sees her stalking towards him.

The woman is pretty and petite and slender but she has a capable way with a scalpel that leaves him a little worried about ruining her blossoming romance. Beyond fear, he is genuinely concerned. Robbie and Laura make a good pair. They're right for each other. It's going to weigh on his conscience that he has harmed that.

But she is a sensible woman. He can only hope that she will see Robbie's actions in light of the situation. And maybe she will understand the loneliness.

He sets his jaw and confronts her.

She smiles at him, wishes him a good morning, and if he didn't know better he would suspect that that was a very decided twinkle in her eye.

A very knowing twinkle. And a very naughty one.

He stares at her retreating back before moving on- much more slowly. He's coming up to the office, now. He can just see Lewis through the glass and the blinds.

On the other hand, he could just get coffee first.

Hathaway berates himself for cowardice even as he lingers over the sugar. He doesn't even like sugar. And he's not one for running from the truth. If anything, he doesn't want to end up in another verbal slanging match- '_you don't know me and you don't know yourself_'.

Lewis's tongue has just the way of injecting disgusted disappointment into his voice that makes Hathaway feel about two feet tall. Lewis' tongue is also very wet and sloppy and enthusiastic and has the ability to make Hathaway feel two feet long.

He hurriedly clears his mind. And his throat.

Lewis shoots a quick glance at the door before nodding. "Mornin', Sergeant. Bit late today."

"Coffee," Hathaway says, and hefts the cheerfully inane mug with- he steals a surreptitious squint at it- a funny saying.

He doesn't feel funny. He feels wretched. And tense. And very angry with the whole situation.

"Slept well?"

He almost swallows his tongue. "Tolerably. No murders yet?"

"No. Old case files. The Chief Super wants these looked at again."

"Ah."

Hathaway puts the mug down on his desk, touches the cheap plywood and varnish, and then turns around determinedly. "Sir, I should apologise."

"What did you do this time?"

"I made a mistake. I wasn't thinking. Never happen again, of course. I understand if you feel..."

Lewis's lips are twitching. "Is this about last night, then?"

"I... misread the situation."

"I see." Lewis puts the file down and looks up, blue eyes bright. "You know, I recall I did a bit more than lie there like a lump."

"We were drinking."

"I wasn't that drunk. For God's sake, man, even _you_ can't possibly blame yourself for this. We just... had a bit of social intercourse."

"Social..." Hathaway's voice fails him.

"Nothing special, Sergeant. It happens sometimes, even in the police." Lewis tips his head to the closed door through which other officers are pottering around.

Hathaway has a sudden image of an office orgy and it's so horrifically fascinating that he doesn't hear anything more until he comes back to-

"...What, you thought it was a straight line down the middle? Girls with the fashion and boys with- what was it, Sergeant? Yorkie bars and _Loaded_ magazine? I remember getting quite the lecture on that."

Hathaway cannot quite believe his ears. It sounds like Lewis is actually more amused that upset. Either way his boss is just sitting, gulping lukewarm tea and reading the contents of an old manila folder as if it was just another day in the office.

As if, for instance, his hand hadn't done obscene things between Hathaway's thighs just nine hours ago.

"I can tender my resignation," Hathaway throws out, just to see what will happen.

Lewis goes very still and the amusement drops away.

"If you want," Hathaway says slowly. The ground's been whipped out from under him but he still has to push, just to see how far he can get. Point of destruction and all that.

He steels himself when Lewis frowns.

"Do we have to go through this every time?"

"Sir, I just think..."

"That's your problem. You think too bloody much, Sergeant. Do some work for a change. Go on! Stop looming over me and get those files looked at."

Hathaway hesitates.

Lewis puts down his mug. "Look, we're partners, James. Work first. We'll talk about it at home."

Hathaway blinks. "Yours or mine?" he ventures.

"What?"

"We have two distinct homes, Sir. Yours and mine."

Lewis goes back to his file. "Mine, then. You bring the wine."


End file.
